


Thick and Thin

by crowsmod



Category: Cuphead (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 06:37:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13358616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowsmod/pseuds/crowsmod
Summary: After their grueling battle against The Devil and his cohorts, Cuphead and Mugman are home to rest and recover, along with the rest of Inkwell. Unfortunately, their injuries don't remain superficial. Boiling under the surface, emotions are stirring, and the two previously thought to be inseparable find themselves at odds more often than not--with each other, and themselves.





	Thick and Thin

A comfortable air hangs over Inkwell Isle 1. Wind whistles through the tree leaves and bumble bees hum gently along the flowers: a perfect spring scene. Aside from Hilda Berg, perched high in the sky, there isn't a cloud to be seen, and the rest of the Isle's residents are enjoying the warm sun. Music can be heard from Ribby's and Croaks' steamboat, and The Root Pack and Cagney Carnation are clustered by the pier, watching Goopy Le Grande make a fool of himself on the docked boat's deck. Elder Kettle had considered attending the small party, but declined the invitation; he has two boys to look after, and after everything that's happened, he's more comfortable the closer he can be to them. He sits now in a rocking chair on his porch, dozing off. His oldest boy, Cuphead, elected to stay inside and sleep in, while the younger of the two sits on the edge of the porch steps, staring, unblinking, into the distance.

Mugman could never have imagined facing the king of evil, The Devil himself, in a million years. Not to mention, fighting all of his family's friends along the way, and  _winning._ He isn't sure which hurts more: that, or any of his bruises, or his black eye, or his broken arm, resting against his chest in a sling: he couldn't just face his neighbors in battle, he had to  _beat_ them all, otherwise it'd be _his_ soul. If he hadn't had his brother with him, encouraging and reassuring him, he's sure he couldn't have muscled through it.

_Cuphead_. For the first time since he woke up, Mugman flexes his facial muscles and pulls an expression besides resigned, worrying calm: an expression of bitterness, of anger. His idiot of an older brother put both of their necks on the line for some quick cash at a craps table they had no business playing at. Thinking on it further, Mugman is nearly sure the game was rigged to raise their hopes, only for them to be dashed with a convenient bad roll. That King Dice surely manipulated the dice; he must be able to, having one for a head and being The Devil's right hand. Fighting _them_ was a nightmare, he recounts, dealing with what felt like the entire casino staff and all of Hell itself. And all this to ensure he and Cuphead didn't lose their souls. As horrible a thought as it is, Mugman nearly wishes he had walked away from his brother before they threw those damned dice. He should have let Cuphead handle it, bet his life and his life alone. He should have--

Hot tears prick at the corners of Mugman's eyes, and he quickly wipes them away as they begin to sting. He winces when he instinctively presses the heel of his palm against his black eye, and sighs, hand dropping to the creaking wood of the porch step. His body is overcome with a dull feeling of unease, and he can't place whether he feels sore or physically ill. Frankly, he wouldn't mind either feeling too much. Ever since the commotion had died down after the Isle-wide celebration, he's felt numb and heavy. His thoughts hazy and unfocused, he'd gotten patched up in silence alongside Cuphead, not fully angry at him yet. As soon as they'd come home, though, the disgust for his brother's recklessness and stupidity came swelling to the brim, threatening to spill over. He wanted to yell, thrash, cry out how terrified he was, for not only himself, but for Cuphead as well, since it didn't seem Cuphead cared all that much about his own well being, let alone his little brother's. But that numbness had spread evenly throughout his body, completely immobilizing him in his own skin. It was a chore just to climb into bed; he wasn't going to waste his energy on chastising Cuphead.

"Heya, Kettle! Heya, Mugkid!"

The sound of Chip's voice snaps Mugman back into the present moment. Elder Kettle sputters and sits up, alert, at the noise, but he relaxes when he sees the ax man wave to him.

"Ah, Chip, good afternoon," Elder Kettle yawns, not bothering to correct Mugman being misnamed (Chip never seems to remember). "What can we do for you?"

"I was on my way to the dock--there's a party goin' on, ya know--and I figured I'd swing by 'cause I knew you lot hadn't made yer way there yet. Wanna walk with me?" Chip seems to be completely oblivious to the atmosphere, asking such a thing when the little family needed a calm day like this to rest. Despite this, when his eyes land on Mugman, he gasps. "Golly! Mugkid, yer arm! And that shiner, and--oh my! That  _crack_!"

Mugman winces at the examination, self consciously rubbing at the long crack down the left side of his head. It's embarrassing enough to have everyone look at him with pity whenever he happens to wander further than the cobblestone lining the path to their front door. To be called out in such an unaware manner feels like a direct blow to his confidence and self worth. Before he has a chance to think of an appropriate response, Elder Kettle beats him to it, standing on his creaky cane and clearing his throat.

"Chip, please, he's- he's been through a lot..." Elder Kettle lowers his voice apprehensively to address their neighbor, as if speaking too loud will hurt his boy more. Mugman appreciates it greatly, but the damage is already done, and he can't help but hang his head in embarrassment. Finally picking up on the tone at the Kettle residence, Chip raises his hands defensively and sputters.

"A-ah, I didn't mean to say nothin'! I'm sorry, Mugkid. B-But hey! Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a little broken!" Chip taps at the gap in his blade and offers Mugman a wink. Mugman's breath catches in his throat, and he fears he might start crying again. He doesn't want to be broken. His injuries don't leave him especially sore, but he feels a deep pain in his chest whenever he sees his reflection, or Cuphead, or the way his neighbors, his  _friends_ , look at him. His crack, and his arm, and his eye, only serve as physical reminders of that pain.

Before his thoughts can spiral further, Elder Kettle takes a protective step closer to Mugman, a tired, pitiable expression on his face.

"Chip, now isn't the best time. Perhaps we'll see you another day?" Miraculously picking up Elder Kettle's cue, Chip apologetically agrees and, after a final glance to Mugman, wanders away. Elder Kettle turns to Mugman, worry wrinkling his eyebrows. "Are you alright?" Not bothering with a proper response, Mugman dismissively nods and stands up. "I can make you some tea, if you want." Again, Mugman only offers a shake of his head in response. He just wants to go lie down, and Elder Kettle hesitantly sits back in his chair when Mugman opens the front door.

Head still lowered, he sees a familiar pair of red shoes on the other side of the threshold.

"G'mornin', Mugsy," Cuphead offers sleepily, rubbing his good eye. He has gauze wrapped around his left arm, and a patch of cotton bandaged over his right eye. He was able to avoid more serious injuries, being the more agile out of the two of them and dodging more attacks successfully. Mugman swears he feels a dull pain shoot across his crack at the thought of Cuphead's better fortune, and his expression smooths over to a disinterested blankness.

"It's nearly two in the afternoon," he grumbles, voice somewhat hoarse from lack of use, and he pushes past his brother into the house.

**Author's Note:**

> ive had this idea since i saw the ending of the game, and today at like 3 in the morning i had lost the last vestige of inhibition i had towards the idea, and decided to throw smthn together and post it. mugman deserves /a lot/ of love, bc this fandom does him dirty and im sick of it, so heres a mugman-centric post-game study of how the boys deal with the trauma theyve gone through. currently this is all i have, but i do want to write more, and incorporate more of the bosses to have bigger roles, as well as dice and maybe the devil as well. i hope yall like it!! (also sorry the title Sucks i cant think of anthing better fkelw;so)


End file.
